happy birthday, jasperandgemma! Loosely based on the song "Post Break Up Sex" by the Vaccines (requessted by sunset oasis on tumblr)

Oliver tugged at his pajama bottoms, pulling the drawstring waistband up over his thighs and tying them just below his navel. He could feel tiny tremors racing under his skin as his body temperature tried to adjust to the cool air in the room. The thick henley shirt with the Gryffindor lion stitched on one side helped enough to make walking from his room to the kitchen bearable. It took some maneuvering, but he was able to flip his slippers into the right positions using just his toes.

Steam from the little teapot clouded his kitchen window, distorting the grey dawn's light. Tiny sprouts of frost coated the bottom edge of the glass and he couldn't resist running his finger over it to push the thin crystals around. Spring was fast approaching, so the frost easily melted under his warm hand.

As he leaned against his counter, watching the sun rise with a mug of tea in hand, he scratched at the back of his neck. His hair was getting too long again. It would start curling out from under his Quidditch helmet and he hated how that felt. Before he could forget he penned a brief note to Katie Bell asking if she were free for a trim later that week.

His apartment was small, even by first-year Quidditch-player-living-in-London standards. So, when the body he'd shared his bed with started to stir, he could hear him easily.

Oliver wondered if anyone made disheveled look as good as Percy Weasley.

"Tea's made," he said with a small gesture, wincing a bit at the unnecessary statement.

Percy's glasses glinted in the sunlight as he walked over to the cupboard to grab a mug. He had put on his clothes of the day before, a few tears here and there from flying debris or spells, but a few buttons were undone at the top and bottom of the collared shirt. His hand easily found the one he used to use every other morning, the one with the black rim and gold lettering on the side screaming I MUSTACHE YOU A QUESTION. His argument was this one fit the most comfortably in his palm. That comment frequently led to easy innuendo, and more sweaty encounters on the couch before work than either could recall.

"You've moved the sugar," Percy said.

He hadn't realized that, Oliver didn't take sugar in his tea so when he'd run out he...hadn't replaced it. Why did he feel guilty about that, Percy was the one who'd..."I think I've got some honey or cream in the cooling cabinet."

If he was disappointed, he didn't show it, or hid it as he opened the door to Oliver's charmed storage cabinet. The way his spine bent was sinful and Oliver stared as long as he was allowed.

He missed him. As much of a selfish prick he'd been, Oliver missed Percy in his flat, arranging the food in the cabinet and pinning reminders to the bathroom mirror. The two seater couch felt too small without him taking up the other half with his guilty pleasure: feet on the armrest and legs pressing into Oliver's while they read. The feeling wasn't as past tense as he'd fooled himself to believe.

But this was Percy. This was a man he'd known since their Sorting, someone he'd unintentionally tortured for six years with his manic Quidditch tendencies and muddy boot prints on the carpets. The last time he'd missed Percy so much, he'd left the dorm to be Head Boy their seventh year. He knew Percy as well as he could know anyone and he'd be damned if this potentially disastrous interlude would ruin everything; there was something about this straight laced boy with his oxfords and crisply ironed shirts that made his blood run hot, and he'd be a fool to deny he missed that, too.

"What's your plan now?" Oliver asked, forcing himself to meet Percy's eyes and not let his gaze wander around the narrow kitchenette.

Percy quirked an eyebrow over his mug, and the gold mustache on the bottom lined up perfectly to the point where if he wasn't so damned nervous about bollocksing things up, Oliver would have guffawed with laughter. "Bit vague, Oliver."

"You're no longer an employee of the Ministry, and for as long as I've known you, becoming Minister has been your solemn vow."

"You heard that, did you?" Percy said quietly. He looked at his feet, shoved against the bottom moulding for balance as he leaned against the counter next to Oliver.

"Whole battle did, right before you saved Fred and George from that wall."

Red filled in the pale spaces between the freckles on Percy's cheeks as he blushed. His voice was small. "I'm just glad I was there, this time."

Oliver gently nudged Percy with his shoulder. "Me, too."

The pair fell into a more comfortable silence than before, but Oliver could taste the way Percy was holding something back. He didn't have to wait too much longer. As Oliver set his mug in the sink and reached for Percy's empty one, the redhead caught his hand in both of his own. He couldn't stop the flash of goosebumps on his arms at the touch and was happy he was wearing a long sleeved shirt to hide the automatic reaction.

"I'm sorry, Oliver," said Percy. "I've...I've been wretched to everyone, especially you. I wouldn't listen when you tried...when you tried to help me see reason. I was blinded by my own ambition."

Oliver, feeling bold, used the hand not trapped by Percy's to twist the taller man's body. He pulled him close into a firm hug, holding him against his chest so Oliver was pressed between Percy and the wall with the window. He could feel Percy bury his face into Oliver's neck and breathe deeply, shoulders shaking, as he softly cried.

"Nothing wrong with ambition, Perce," he said, once Percy grew quiet again. He gently moved them both to his loveseat and ignored the ache in his chest when he situated them so Percy's legs rested across his own. "Important thing is that you were there last night when we needed you. And you're here with me now."

"I'm not sure I deserve whatever you're offering me right now."

"It's not what I'm offering, you cad. Whatever you're doing it's something you've started and are taking for yourself, like some kind of Gryffindor."

Oliver counted a score on his side for the flash of a smile. Heat from the night before, charged by adrenalin and emotion and their own sexual tension, simmered below the surface of Oliver's mind as he played with Percy's fingertips. He'd learned over the last decade to let Percy think when he had to, even if the quiet drove him mad. The benefits were unmistakeable.

Percy fidgeted, and Oliver noticed for the first time that he'd skipped a button and didn't realize it yet. He took one of his hands away from holding Percy's and poked at that button. As much as he tried to keep the conversation light and easy, that heat kept pushing its way to the surface, and when he spoke he couldn't hide the ache of wanting to touch Percy again. "Frankly I don't know how you can walk around my flat like this, Perce. You're a mess."

Two heartbeats. Oliver didn't dare to look up, not yet.

"...could I be your mess, again?"

Oliver barely let Percy finish his sentence before he twisted and hovered over him to steal a kiss, nuzzling his nose into Percy's as their foreheads pressed together. His arms shook a bit from the memory of exertion the day before of hours of dueling followed by hours of fucking, but he held himself up. A smile nearly split his face in two and his stomach moved away from its hiding place in his throat only to fill with the butterflies he remembered so fondly.

"Yes, please."

Oliver slipped the glasses off of Percy's face so they wouldn't be lost during what he planned to be a thorough invitation back into his life.